Page 76 of Tapped By My Roommate
My heart sank. “Yeah, I was afraid of that.”
Despite his sleek chrome-and-glass desk and modern-style law offices, Alan Bretz was warm and friendly, far from the stereotypes of lawyer sharks that had danced through my head. Oddly, his manner made me trust him more.
Mr. Bretz had listened sympathetically to my full story before telling me I most likely didn’t have enough evidence to prove Zilla was my pet and not Tess’s. Because Tess purchased Zilla, and because there was no official documentation listing me as an owner, it was a he said/she said sort of case.
“Unfortunately, the law favors the person in possession of the property—in this case, your iguana,” he said as he walked me to the door. “Your best chance is to work it out with your former partner. If there’s animosity, maybe try a mediator.”
I nodded, swallowing hard to dislodge the lump in my throat.
Tess wasn’t going to budge. I knew that. So, where did that leave me? I doubted she’d even consider a third-party mediator.
“I could file the lawsuit for you, if you decide you want to pursue it anyway,” Mr. Bretz added. “But I think it’d be a waste of your money and time.”
I left the law offices still torn about what to do. Pursue a long shot of a law case that could take weeks? Show up at Tess’s door and refuse to leave until she gave me Zilla—or she called the police and had me arrested? Give up and accept that I’d lost Zilla?
No. Absolutely not.
I was not going to give up. There had to be a solution out there. If the law couldn’t help me, I’d have to help myself.
I drove to Oasis, half-formed plans and what-if scenarios whirling through my head, and headed inside on autopilot. Distracted as I was, I nearly ran into Violet and ended up dropping the stack of posters Rhett had designed all over the floor.
“Sorry. Wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“It’s okay. I was just running around like a chicken with its head cut off.” Violet chuckled as she crouched down to help me pick up pages from the floor. “Wow, these posters are amazing! You said this wasn’t your forte, you liar.”
I swept the remaining pages into my arms and stacked them on the counter. Violet was still studying one, a big smile on her face.
“Nah, I didn’t do it. My friend made them for me.”
There was that word again. So inadequate.
“Well, Carla is going to be impressed. Tell her you did them, so you get all the brownie points.”
“No way. What if she asks me to do more of this stuff?”
I was here for the animals, not event planning. I could handle doing some research on grant opportunities or fundraising projections. Research was comfortable. But trying to think of activities that would appeal to someone who wasn’t a wildlife geek? That wastough.Without Rhett’s ideas, my efforts would have been dry as dirt.
There was a commotion on the other side of the room. Carla called out, “Ethan, I need you!”
I hurried over. Carla was struggling with an aggressive, snapping lizard—this one larger than the little beardie we’d gotten in weeks ago.
Being in the Midwest, we didn’t get as many lizards as a rescue center in a place like Florida might. Nebraska had only a few native reptiles—and the Savannah Monitor was definitely not among them. But there was no stopping people who wanted them as pets.
“Whoa,” I said. “He’s worked up.”
“Yeah. Open the enclosure for me,” Carla said, nodding to our currently vacant vivarium—a habitat designed for reptiles. We’d already placed our smaller beardie with a foster home until a permanent owner could be found, and we now had two habitats available that could be used for reptiles, so there was plenty of space.
I hurried to open the enclosure so that Carla could get the stressed reptile on solid ground where he’d feel more secure. I crouched outside, looking in at him. This boy was in sorry shape.
“Retained shed,” I murmured. “Overweight too.”
I could see that he had dysecdysis, commonly known as retained shed—a condition that sometimes happened when a reptile didn’t shed properly and ended up with layers of dead skin. He was pale, his eyes half closed, and there were patchy spots all over him.
“Yes, he needs a good soak and a check for parasites,” Carla said. “But not until he calms down.”
The monitor was already moving away from the front of the vivarium, seeking out a hiding place. There were logs and rocks in the enclosure that would serve his purpose. Heat lamps warmed the habitat, and a misting setup allowed us to maintain a humid climate.
“I’ll check the settings,” I offered. “His last enclosure might have been low on humidity. That could be the reason for the dysecdysis.”
